


Five years on, the war wages on

by thedeactivist



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon - Freeform, Class reunion, Dragon Family, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pining, Polyamory, Reunions, aro!Ingrid puts herself in charge of sylvain's romantic happiness, aromantic!Ingrid, byleth recruits everyone, eventual graphic depictions of violence, lots of love, verdant wind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27174239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeactivist/pseuds/thedeactivist
Summary: Byleth was used to strange dreams, once. But ever since she joined with the Goddess, the dreams stopped, gone with the voice in her head. She used to miss them, almost as much as she misses Sothis. But the dreams are back, and the only times she can see or hear her friend are when she is dying, right before she wakes up.It's been five years since the end of a war that almost destroyed Fodlan. Five years since the Flame Emperor was put down and the Immaculate One brought to heel. Five years since the Reigan heir became Almyra's King and the Boar Prince shed his skin to become the Savior King of Fodlan.It's been five years since Byleth's students have all been in one place. But with the anniversary of the end of the war on the horizon, Garreg Mach is bustling with the most positive activity it has seen in centuries.But a shadowy plot is being woven in the dark. The only way to bring an end to this secret war of terror is to band three houses together, one last time.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Blue Lions Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ferdinand von Aegir/Constance von Nuvelle, Ferdinand von Aegir/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Flayn & My Unit | Byleth, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Linhardt von Hevring/Lysithea von Ordelia, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Everyone, My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Being an Idiot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Reunion at Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this while making French Onion Soup and playing Three Houses in between stirs.
> 
> This is going to have a little bit from every route in it, but will primarily be a mix of Azure Moon and Golden Deer. I have a loose outline of the events of the fic, but as far as developing pairings go, those tags will be added. Rating will be updated as I have a need to do that.
> 
> Anything that will be explicit or potentially triggering will marked off in the story body, as well as in the notes for each chapter.
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom, and only my second one overall, so please, lend me kind, constructive criticism.
> 
> This has not been beta'd, but I did read through the chapter a couple of times.

_Byleth wipes the blood and sweat from her brow. Of their origin, she is unsure. There are soldiers fighting all around her. Some of it is hers. But it can’t all be. If it were, she’d be dead. There’s a black wolf and a black horse next to her, blood dripping from fangs and hooves. They are felled by a flaming javelin of light. She wants to check them, to heal them, to see if they are truly dead. But she cannot. They all knew what could happen, on this or any battlefield._

_She runs forward. Twin silver heads to her right, axe and arrows flashing in the flames. Far behind them she sees a tornado and two flashes of green. A pegasus screams overhead as a wyvern falls at her feet. She leaps over it. She has to keep going. She weaves between the fighting, axes singing, swords clashing, horses braying in fear. Pushes through her students, her charges, her friends. Until she arrives to the steps of the strong hold to the west._

_There’s a one-eyed lion, embattled with a flaming eagle, a flailing stag in his mouth._

_She screams for them to stop, and all three turn their eyes on her. Their own bitter struggle forgotten as they charge her position. Talons rake her face as one sharp antler pierces her gut. The lion’s maw closes on her throat and her screams turn to gurgles. Satisfied at her demise, they turn back to each other. Her vision, red with blood, fades to darkness. Everything is still. Her heart burns. A girl with large eyes and green hair screams for her to turn back the hands of time._

Byleth awakes, gasping for breath. Air fills the lungs that were just moments ago filled with blood.

‘No,’ a voice in her head supplies. ‘They were filled with air. It was a terrifying dream.’

Still, her heart burns, and her lungs ache. She wipes her face. Sits up and throws her legs off the side of the bed. Time to face the day.

It’s been five years. Five years since Fodlan almost crumbled into dust and blood. Five years since The Flame Emperor was put down and the Archbishop was brought to heel. Five years since the Alliance Leader became Almyra’s King and the Boar Prince, the Savior King of the (once again) United Kingdom of Fodlan. Five years is not a very long time. At the same time, it feels like an eternity.

Still, five years have come and gone. It’s been almost as many since her former students were gathered in one place. There are some she hasn’t seen since before then. At least there’s something to smile about today. Well, to really smile about. She’s not looking forward to broaching the subject of her real aim. Idly, she says a prayer that they won’t be mad to find out this is as much about the continued Fodlan peace as it about catching up. She has a feeling that quite a few of them at least will be eager to leap once more into battle at her command.

Hilda is unhappy. It’s not that she’s sad or angry, exactly. But miffed? Definitely miffed. She thinks back to a month ago when all of this started.

“The professor is throwing a class reunion on the anniversary of the war being over!” she had called to Claude when the letter arrived.

“Hopefully it’ll be better than the last reunion,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her middle.

“I don’t see how it could be worse,” she sing-songs as she turns around in his arms to press a kiss on his nose. “We have to go.”

“I could never let Her Holiness down. If we leave next week, we can stop and see Holst on the way. Swing through Edmund territory and pick up Marianne. I know how much you miss her.”

“I love it! I’ll send our response back right now!” Hilda broke away and wrote a message to confirm their attendance.

They left five days later, Nader promising to keep Almyra out of war until they returned.

The first half of their journey had been wonderful. Holst had finally found a mushroom that wouldn’t kill him. Balthus was, somehow, not dead, and on leave from his employer. She tried to get him to tell her who it was. He refused to answer, and then Claude guessed anyway. Apparently Yuri had employed him as a bodyguard. Seeing Marianne again made her heart sing. Exchanging trinkets and affection and breath. It was going excellently until she woke up in the middle of the night with blue hair in her face and a cold back. She sat up with a start to see Claude, completely dressed, with a small bag over his shoulder and his bow in his hand.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” she hissed into the semi-darkness.

“Got something to take care of.” He crossed the room and leaned over Marianne to kiss Hilda. When she smacked his face away, he smiled and kissed Marianne on the forehead.

“Did you have something to take care of when you came up with this extended vacation idea?”

“I’ll meet you guys at the monastery. I’ll be there for the big, official reunion dinner.”

“Whatever. Travel safe.”

“I have no control over that.”

“Die then,” she said and kissed him.

And now here she is. Clara’s wings beat powerfully beneath her, Marianne’s arms tight around her middle. She keeps kissing her neck softly. It’s the only reason that she’s only miffed.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Hilda,” Marianne shouts next to her ear. “Claude never does anything he isn’t sure about.”

“I know, but I’m still annoyed,” she shouts back. “If he’s not here by the reunion feast, I’m going to kill him.”

Garreg Mach shines brightly in the middle distance. She can see a small flock of black pegasi up ahead, intermingled with a much larger flock of wyverns draped in Brigid colors. There’s two companies of horses, the larger one with a silver Falconknight leading a white battalion of Pegasus Knights, the Blaiddyd banner fluttering in the breeze. The other company is much smaller, no banner. It’s probably the former Empire students who decided to travel together.

Most of the former Alliance students have probably been there for days. It’s much easier to leave a territory that hadn’t been decimated in the fighting five years ago. The Alliance was definitely strained and maybe a little beaten up, but they hadn’t really joined the fighting until close to the end of the war. Most of the restoration effort had been in repairing houses and feeding the hungry. She quashes down the swell of pride at her husband’s aptitude for peace through conflict. She’s not miffed anymore. Now, she’s just mad.

“Stupid Claude and his stupid secret schemes,” she whispers to herself. Her voice is lost to the swirl of Clara’s wings, but she can feel the warm breath of Marianne’s laugh against her neck.

Ever in tune with each other, Marianne seems to have followed Hilda’s train of thought well enough. “If he weren’t so good at schemes, the three of us never would have found each other.”

“We were in the same house for a year,” she shouts. “We found each other on our own.”

“Of course, my love.”

Marianne has a point. If not for Claude’s schemes, the new world would have been a very different place. Still, she can be miffed if she wants to be.

_Your Majesty,_

_I’m having a class reunion that will definitely have a better outcome than your last one. I’m inviting everyone that survived the war for a feast and celebration. It’s been five years since we defeated the Empire, and I would like for us to continue to heal ourselves as we try to heal the nation._

_I miss you, and the rest of your class dearly._

_There’s something else I would like us to discuss once you arrive. I won’t say more here. I’m pretty sure Flayn is reading all my messages. And while I cherish and love her as I would a little sister, she worse at keeping secrets than Sylvain around pretty women._

_Please find out how Dedue would like to celebrate his birthday._

_The feast will take place on the 30 th day of the Verdant Rain Moon. Please let me know how many of your house will be travelling with you and staying in the monastery._

_Come whenever you can, and please stay for as long as you like._

_Until we meet,_

_Byleth_

Dimitri looks over the letter as his retinue slows to trot. He has reread Byleth’s message countless times since Felix grumpily slid it across the table after a council meeting. _‘A letter from your beloved,’_ he had with a little more than the usual heat. Sylvain asked if he was jealous. Felix punched him in the stomach. Ingrid punches at his head. Five years later, and not much had changed.

“What’s got you blushing, Your Majesty?” Sylvain coos from his left.

“Shut up, Sylvain.” Felix is still in a bad mood, it seems.

“Nothing,” says Dimitri. He stuffs the letter in his saddlebag. He snaps his head up and looks at the sky. There’s a pink wyvern breaking away from the Almyran company. 

“Felix, take the lead. I’ll meet you at the stables. Dedue, come with me!” He urges his steed into a gallop without looking to see if he’s obeyed. He doesn’t need to anymore. For all his harsh words, Felix has gentled his nature to his king. He blushes again, thankful that the only one who can see him is Dedue.

Clara lands with a thud and Dimitri jumps from his horse to catch the flying pink figure that casts itself off the wyvern.

“Dimitri! It’s so good to see you! You look so good! Hey, Dedue!”

“It’s a pleasure Lady Hilda. Beautiful as always.”

“Your Majesty,” says Dedue with a deep bow.

“Please, both of you, call me Hilda. I’m not exactly royalty to most people in Fodlan.”

“As an allied sovereign nation, its ruler should be accorded all due respect,” says Dedue.

“True. But I don’t care. Dedue, can you help Marianne down? She’s not great at dismounting.”

“Of course, Yo- Hilda.”

Hilda beams.

“Thank you, Dedue,” says Marianne. “Hello, Dimitri.”

“Hello, Marianne. It’s good to see you.”

Dedue and Marianne fall into soft conversation as another wyvern lands beside Clara. A woman hops down and mounts Clara and the two beasts fly away.

“Let us head to the monastery. I’m sure the Professor is excited to see us.” And Dimitri is anxious to see her. He swings into the saddle and pulls Hilda up behind him. To his right, Dedue helps Marianne into the saddle of his massive warhorse and climbs up behind her, clearly relieved to let an expert horsewoman take the reins. Dimitri smiles to himself. Dedue typically rode with one Ashe or Mercedes, still unsure on the back of a horse now as he had been in the Academy.

But with Mercedes four months into her pregnancy, horseback had not been the best idea. So Ashe drove the coach and Annette flew above the pair on her ebony pegasus for protection. Neither Dimitri nor Dedue were satisfied with the arrangement, but when Mercedes threatened to stay home unless Dedue rode with the King, Dedue relented. No one was particularly happy about it, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. Felix supplied two Fraldarius battalions to escort the coach, which prompted full, civil conversation that turned into a blushing staring match between the Royal Sword and Shield.

“Where’s Claude?” Dimitri asks Hilda over his shoulder.

“Oh, who knows? He left Edmund the night before last to do something. Probably in Derdriu. He’ll be back by the feast.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“He’s always scheming, but he always keeps me in the loop. This is the first thing that I know he’s kept from me in five years.” She sighs. “I’m worried.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back in time, perfectly safe.”

“Marianne keeps saying that, but I’m still worried.”

“Completely understandable. Perhaps he’s been in touch with the Professor. Marianne?”

“Yes, Dimitri?”

“Last one to the monastery stables has to sit next to Sylvain.”

Marianne doesn’t reply, just pushes her horse into a gallop that leaves Dimitri and Hilda in the dust.

“Don’t let them win! I’m still mad at him for that debacle at my wedding!”

Dimitri laughs and tries to catch up.

“Byleth, stop fidgeting.”

“Why do I have to wear this thing?” She adjust her headdress again. This time it slides to the back of her head and onto the floor. She heaves a sigh and bends over to pick it up. “They’ve all seen me covered in blood with arrows in my side. I don’t think they’ll care if I’m dressed like the Archbishop or not.”

Seteth takes the headdress from her hands and comes to stand in from of her. “Because,” he says as he brushes the dust off the offending object. “You are the Archbishop, whether you dress like it or not.”

“Right. So, why do I have to wear this thing?” She tries to take it back, but he waves her off and she throws her hands up and stands up straight.

“They may be your former students, but it’s important for _all of you_ to remember that you’ve all new roles. You may be their former teacher, but now you are their Archbishop. For Sothis’ sake, remember that while we walk among them, we’ll be here long after all of them are gone.”

“Cichol, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, Byleth?”

“I’ve been having these dreams about the war.”

‘Be still! You must take caution!’ The voice from this morning echoes in her head. Byleth’s breath catches in her throat.

“What kind of dreams?” His exasperation leaves his face and voice and is replaced with deep concern.

“Just these… terribly vivid nightmares.” The voice in her head settles down and seems to go back to sleep.

“Of what happened? Or what could have happened?” He lifts a hand to cup her upper arm.

“Both. Neither?” She realizes she’s crying when Seteth lifts his other hand to wipe her tears away.

“I am always here to talk, should you ever need it. I remember the effects of my first war quite well, even to this day. I may not be able to provide answers, but I do have an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on.”

Byleth smiles. “Thank you, Seteth.” She rises onto tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and smiles wider when a blush appears there.

“It is my pleasure, Archbishop.” He lets himself be hugged. “Come. Your students will be overjoyed to see you.”

“I’m going to hug every last one of them.”

“…fine. One hug per student.”

Byleth cheers.

Seteth should have known that his one-hug stipulation would be ignored. The first group to enter include Petra, now Queen of Brigid, and Dorothea her consort. It’s a three-way hug that last for many minutes, and then becomes two single hugs that last for just as long. Bernadetta slinks in as Petra is peeling her wife off of Byleth. She gives a quick side hug and retreats to the alcove in the right side of the audience chamber. She sits on a low couch and seems much happier to watch the three women chat animatedly. It’s not long before the next group comes in, hair pulled back, all still in their travel clothes. Lysithea comes in pulling Lindhart by the arm. Caspar is pushing him with one arm while flexing the other at the one Seteth wants to see most: his beloved daughter. She’s laughing at Caspar, but when she sees Seteth, she pushes him out of the way and tackles her father.

“Brother!” She shouts. He holds her tight and spins her around.

“How was your flight? Did you have any poor weather?”

“The whole trip was excellent! Ordelia has excellent fish. We must go together sometime soon.”

“Of course, Flayn. Perhaps we can make our way down to Enbarr and visit the Southern Church.”

“That would be most excellent. I am looking forward to our joint adventure.”

“How goes your research? Have you found any new breakthroughs in Crestology?”

“Unfortunately, we have not.” She looks frustrated at this, but immediately brightens. “But we have developed some new technology with Constance. Speaking of which, where has she gone? And where is Ferdinand?”

“I am thinking you have answered one question with your second question. They must be having something to do together.”

“Forgive me, my friends, for our tardiness! But it is I, Constance Von Nuvelle. The sun had drained me of my energy, but in this dark chamber, I have found my inner light, only dimmed by the light in all of you.”

“And it is I, Fer—,” another obnoxious voice starts.

“Do not. Finish. That sentence,” Lysithea snaps. “Say your hellos like normal people and then get changed for dinner.”

“Hello, Ferdinand Von Aegir!” Flayn says brightly.

Lysithea groans. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“Nap? Yes, let’s do that. Caspar, you are not invited.”

“Don’t care. I’m going to go see if Raphael is here yet.”

“He’s here,” says Byleth. “Probably in the training grounds with Ignatz and Leonie. They arrived yesterday.”

“Alright! Let’s go!”

Petra, Dorothea, and Bernadetta take their leaves as well. Constance and Ferdinand stay behind for a few minutes talking at each other, and Byleth laughs at their competition over who can be more obnoxious. He takes Flayn into his arms again and listens as she talks animatedly about her trip, her research, and her friends. His heart squeezes when he thinks of his wife and how proud she would be of their daughter.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester arrives with his personal brand of noble flourish, and after kissing Byleth’s hand in deep bow, takes his leave with Constance Von Nuvelle and Ferdinand Von Aegir. Byleth and Seteth breathe a sigh of relief as Flayn casts a weak heal spell at both of them to cure their headaches.

“Professor!” She breaks from Seteth’s arms and flings herself at Byleth, whose own arms catch her in a gripping hug.

“Thank you for getting rid of the headache.”

“Of course! It is one of the many ways I have been contributing to the research and invention. Lysithea says that if I were to ever leave our little band of inventors that she would never invent again. I cannot say I blame her. Everyone is so loud. Sometimes it makes my own head spin.”

“You are, of course, welcome home at any time, Cethleann.” Seteth wants her to stay, but he will not force her. In this new world, with such powerful companions across the continent, there are more safe places to live her life than there were before the first war.

“I would love for you to stay for a little while after everyone leaves. I missed you very much,” says Byleth into the top of Flayn’s hair.

“But of course! I have missed both of you dearly!”

Goddess bless this new Archbishop. He wraps his arms around the two young women and kisses them both on the tops of their heads.

“I thought I could only give people one hug each today.”

“One hug per student. And I am not a student.”

“Thank Sothis for that.”

There's a darkness stirring, beneath the ground, to the east, from the north. Fodlan may be united, but it's not truly at peace. Not until the Cult of Seiros is no more, and the betrayer is brought low.

_My Teacher, I am coming for you. And when I have destroyed you, I shall kill the Goddess Herself._

Blue eyes that should be dead open to stare into the darkness. It is time to bring peace to all. 


	2. A tangle of arms

To say he’s relieved to be off the back of a horse is an understatement. But to leave Dimitri’s side during a cross country trek to Garreg Mach didn’t sit right. Neither did leaving Mercedes and Ashe in a coach, but surely with Annette above and 210 soldiers Felix trained himself escorting them, the only way they’d be in any real danger would be if the King’s entire company was killed first. The thought alone makes him nauseous. Well, more nauseous. He’s been in a less than pleasant mood since—well. Almost the entire second half of his life. But his mood has been more sour than usual since the Archbishop’s invitations made their way to Fhirdiad.

“Felix, you seem to be in bad mood.” Sylvain dismounts beside him and hands the reins to one of the soldiers near to him.

“The way you tell it, I’m always in a bad mood.” He is always in a bad mood, but Sylvain doesn’t need to point that out. It stings. These days, everything stings.

“This one seems worse than normal. Careful now. If this is about Dimitri, I’ll get jealous.” Sylvain’s words hit too close to his heart.

“Sylvain, stop teasing him.” There’s a whistle and then a thump and suddenly Sylvain isn’t in Felix’s personal space and now rounded on a blonde figure.

“I’ll stop teasing him when you stop hitting me,” says Sylvain. He’s rubbing the spot on his arm where the butt of a lance has struck his arm.

“I don’t need your protection, Ingrid.” Felix snaps. He feels slightly bad about it. She’s not the reason he’s twisted up.

“I’m just tired of all three of you!” she snaps back. She tries to smack him too, but he parries her lance with the scabbard of his sword.

“Now, now everyone. Let’s save the aggression for council meetings.” Mercedes calls from the steps of the coach. She sounds tired, but smiles at them nonetheless.

“I think the problem is that council meetings are the only place to let the aggression out,” says Ashe. He offers his arm to Mercedes, which she gratefully takes as she steps down.

“Do you guys not have any time to train with each other?” Annette chimes. She walks around her pegasus to kiss Mercedes and Ashe on the cheek. “There’s no way you’re all so busy you can’t get away for a few hours to spar.”

“I was thinking about something more fun!” Mercedes brings a hand to stroke her pregnant belly. Felix feels his face grow hot and he hears Ingrid sputter to his left.

“Now you’re talking, Mercie!” Of course Sylvain would be happy to hear that. Ingrid looks like she wants to hit him again, but something over their shoulders catches her eye.

“Your Majesty! Welcome back,” she hails.

Dimitri hands Hilda down to the ground and then gracefully alights his horse. Dedue and Marianne are close behind them. Their dismount is less refined, as Marianne has eyes on her, and Dedue is not a horseman. Felix chuckles to himself, somewhat glad that he’s not the only one in their former house that prefers to be on foot. Dedue catches his eye over the four-way hug he collected the archer and mages in, and smiles. In the past five years, His Majesty’s retainer and rival have grown, if not into friends, then at least dedicated comrades. So much so that their respective loyalty to Dimitri has blanketed each other. He’d deny it, should anyone ask, but Felix is glad to have someone to truly share the burden of keeping the King on the right on the track.

“Ingrid, for the last time-” Dimitri starts. Felix rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I know, Dimitri for the trip. But please, not in front of the students.” Ingrid drops her head into a quick bow. “We should head to audience chamber. Sylvain!” A redhead snaps up from the midst of two pastel heads. Hilda seems to be giving Sylvain the tongue lashing she started to give him at her wedding, a tongue lashing Felix should probably be getting as well. But it was Sylvain’s idea, and Felix survived the war because he never joined a battle he couldn’t win or have an exit strategy for.

“Oh, thank Sothis. Sorry, ladies. We’ll talk about this later.” Sylvain runs ahead of the group, Hilda hot on his heels, and the rest of the Blue Lions and Marianne follow behind, albeit more slowly.

Felix brings up the rear, content to let his former classmates lead the way to where the professor is waiting for them. Until he realizes that Dimitri seems to have the same idea. He’s gotten better at being alone with the him, but sitting at the same desk and signing letters is different from a leisurely walk in the place that has so many memories and words unsaid trapped in its walls. Especially considering that the last time the two of them were alone together ended with heated words and traded insults. He speeds up, hoping to get enough of a headstart to catch up to Dedue, who rushes his lovers along when he sees Felix approaching. Dimitri’s massive hand catches the top of his bicep and pulls him back to his side. Felix sighs. Know when you are beaten.

“Felix, I wanted to apologize for our last conversation. You’ve been by my side these five years. I had no reason to speak to you the way I did.” His hand is still on his bicep. Felix knows he should pull away, but he’s suddenly so tired, the long ride catching up to him.

“Stop it. It’s fine. I’ve said worse.” Much, much worse. Things he’s been trying to atone for. Things he will never stop trying to atone for.

“Not since the war ended. You’ve been a boon to my reign and my health, and I wanted to resolve this _thing_ that has settled between us.” Dimitri stops and pulls Felix around to face him. He’s doing the kicked puppy thing, as Sylvain calls it. It would be more endearing if it wasn’t so irritating. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Part of Felix wants to shrug off the massive hands that have come to rest on his shoulders, but a much smaller, louder part of him holds steady. His eyes meet the piercing blue one that stares down at him.

“There’s nothing between us. Nothing to settle, I mean.” He can feel the tips of his ears start to heat. He wants to look away, but he can’t. The singular blue eye has him rooted to the spot. He waits for Dimitri to speak, to contradict him. Annoyingly, the earnest look has settled onto his face like stone, and his lips don’t move. “We can talk later,” he concedes. Dimitri’s mouth draws up into a small smile. It won’t be long until someone realizes they’ve fallen behind. With a flash of annoyance, he remembers how Dedue abandoned them. If someone (Ingrid) does realize who is missing, Dedue will attempt to write it off as inconsequential. No one will believe him, of course. Because as much as Felix is loathe to admit it, there is something between Shield and King. Something old and growing and painful, and he’s only recently begun to realize he has never done a good job at hiding it. “Everyone’s gone ahead. The Professor is waiting for us.”

Dimitri looks to where their friend’s were just a few minutes ago. Felix’s eyes follow, just in time to see Dedue’s silver hair round the corner into the hallway leading to the steps to the second floor of the monastery.

“Of course. Let’s go.” Dimitri bursts into a stride, and Felix jogs after him, the only way he can keep up with his king’s long legs. They spend the rest of their walk in silence, Dimitri’s whole form looking brighter than it had been in almost a month. He’s walking on his right side, half a step behind, so he can’t see his face, but then neither can Dimitri see his, even if they were to walk precisely next to each other. Not for the first time in the past five years is Felix selfishly, guiltily grateful for the eye patch. It’s easier to hide in a blind spot.

Typically, a shield is worn on the wearer’s non dominant arm. This lets the user protect themselves, while sacrificing as little dexterity in their weapon arm as possible. There are exceptions, of course. A soldier in a phalanx would carry their shield on whatever arm the rest of the unit carried theirs. In the event that a lone soldier is disarmed or their weapon broken, they might transfer the shield to their dominant hand, so that they can use the thing designed to protect them as a weapon.

Traditionally, the Shield of Faerghus followed the same logic. From Lambert and Rodrigue, Kyphon and Loog, and back and back to where the tradition started: Blaiddyd and Fraldarius themselves, the Shield of Faerghus placed themselves on the side of the Sovereign’s weak side. Ever since Dimitri came back from the dead half a decade ago, Felix has found himself always on the King’s right side. He doesn’t remember when he started doing it. It wasn’t until Mercedes brought it up while mending his sword arm after liberating Fhirdiad that he even noticed. ‘You’re getting injured a lot more than you used to,” she had said. ‘Fighting and protecting at the same time takes some adjusting.’ He had said something rude in response to cover up the then unnamed feeling in his chest, but Mercedes took it in stride. ‘Some of us are confessors and some are better suited to letting people’s words and feelings reach for us first. How difficult it must be for two people on the second side of that dilemma.’

He wonders which one she turned out to be. Probably the former. Of the four of them, she was the most in tune with her own and others’ feelings. It doesn’t really matter. He’s never seen any group of people so happy in the wake of so much loss.

They’re quiet for the rest of the walk, only speaking to the few monastery residents that they pass along the way. By the time they catch up to the rest of their group, they’ve made it to the audience chamber. The Professor has Mercedes in a tight hug, clearly having just found out that their former healer was pregnant. Not for the first time, he wonders if Dedue or Ashe are about to become a father.

Sylvain is hiding behind Ashe and Annette, no doubt trying to escape the consequences of whatever stupid thing he said to Flayn. Seteth and Ingrid both are lecturing him, while Flayn laughs to the side. It’s just like their academy days. It’s almost enough to bring him out of his foul mood. But then he remembers why he wanted to bring up the rear alone, and wishes that he had gone to greet the Professor as soon as they had entered the monastery grounds. If Dimitri hadn’t told him to meet at the stables, he would have already been in his guest quarters. He decides to blame Hilda. She has strong shoulders, and doesn’t really care about him anyway.

Dimitri and Felix wait on the side of the hugs and greetings being traded and the laughter pealing through the room. Dimitri’s shoulders have lost some of the tension they had been carrying. He can understand why. The Professor had always been a calming presence. Seeing and hearing her laugh had always settled something deep inside him. He knows that her existence did that for most of the people in the room.

Dimitri laughs, and suddenly Felix’s calm is gone. Her seafoam eyes have locked on their position, and both king and duke stand up a little straighter. She’s still talking to Dedue and Mercedes, but she’s staring at Dimitri like a child stares at a wasp in a room. Dimitri is standing perfectly still, ramrod straight, and blush begins to form just under his eyepatch. Felix clears his throat. Both of their gazes shift to him, and Felix’s face flushes red. Dimitri’s does, too. The Professor is smirking. Felix feels sick.

“Felix, Dimitri,” she calls from across the room. “It’s about time you joined us!”

“Professor, I apologize for the delay. We had Kingdom matters to discuss,” Dimitri covers. It’s not a lie, exactly. Everything about their relationship concerns the Kingdom.

“As long as you’re here, it’s forgiven.” She leaves her place in the midst of their former classmates and pulls both of them into a hug. She places a kiss on Felix’s cheek, and then stands up on tiptoe to do the same to Dimitri. Sylvain doesn’t comment, so she must have done it to everyone. Or Sylvain didn’t see. He sneaks a glance to where he’s settled with both of his hands folded on the head of a long-suffering Marianne. Sylvain is staring back. He’s laughing, but it doesn’t look very genuine. Sylvain definitely saw.

“I need to talk to both of you,” she whispers.

“What’s wrong?”Felix asks. Sylvain’s stare is a brand on his face, equal in heat to where Dimitri and the Professor’s hands are on his back.

“I’ll just say I hope you brought your relics.”

“Is there a fight on its way?”Dimitri asks.

“I’m not sure yet. I have a couple people investigating some rumors.”

“Is now a good time?”Felix asks. “Since we’re ten feet from your office?”

“No, I want to wait till they get back from their missions. I need information first.”

“In that case.” Felix steps out of the ring of their arms. “I’m going to freshen up.” He bows his head slightly. “Until next time.”

Someone probably says something to him, but he doesn’t hear it. He has to get out of that room. His feet take him to the training grounds. There’s a few former students laughing to loudly in the middle of the room. They pause when they see him. Leonie’s greeting is met with a gruff hello, but the group goes back to what they were doing. He settles into the corner he favored in the academy. With each swipe of his sword, he feels a little bit more of the world fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Felix.


	3. Love isn't complicated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid's life would be much easier if these dumb boys with their inexplicable emotions would talk to each other instead of her.

“Everything looks the same.” There’s a touch of awe in Ingrid’s voice as she traces her fingers around the edge of her Sylvain’s bookshelf. There’s a vase of forget-me-nots on the desk. These ones are fresh, so obviously not the ones from five years ago. Everything had been so chaotic during and after the war that the original bouquet may have been thrown out yesterday or five years ago. But it’s still forget-me-nots in the same cracked vase she lent her friend a decade ago.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Sylvain is leaning against the window sill, looking down the portico at the door to the training grounds. “You’ve been here plenty in the past five years. So much that your enthusiasm about seeing Seteth was a little much.”

“Friendship is like that, sometimes. Not that you would know.” She ruffles his hair. “Besides, they always put me up in the knights’ quarters. Why are you staring at the training grounds?”

“Felix has been really bitchy since we got the invitations.” He doesn’t react at all when she starts unlacing the ties of the armor at his shoulder.

“Felix is always bitchy. It’s his defining characteristic.” She moves to the other shoulder.

“Yeah, but like Dimitri-hurt-his-feelings bitchy. Like he wants to cry, but he’s too tough, so he settles for being asshole. Like he was when we were kids and he decided he didn’t want to be the baby anymore.”

“Is there a different kind of Felix bitchy?” Ingrid sits down behind him on the window sill and peers out the window with him. The rest of Sylvain’s armor is easy enough for him to remove on his own. He fumbles with the clasps on the side of his breastplate, eyes never leaving the training ground entrance.

“Yes, the kind that he was when the Professor hugged both of them at the same time. The kind that happens when he likes something but doesn’t want anyone to know. There’s something going on with the three of them.”

“I thought there was something going on with you, Felix, and Dimitri,” she says tiredly.

“There is, but it’s different.”

She doesn’t ask how. She doubts she would understand it anyway. Sylvain has spent many hours trying to explain exactly what was going on to her. He said that love was complicated. She can’t remember if there was any complication in her love for Glenn. But that had been easy. There were expectations about how the betrothed were supposed to feel about each other. But then he had died. Of course she cried when he died. But she would have been just as devastated if it had been Dimitri instead. Just as much as she was the two times she thought he had died. Love isn’t complicated. Love is love. It’s just different for her.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand. But you should do something about it. Or at least get them to stop acting so weird around other people.”

Sylvain doesn’t answer. There’s a pile of armor on the ground at his feet and tension in his shoulders. She frowns. The carefully constructed cheery mask he normally wears is gone, too. It’s been a while since he’s worn that mask when it’s just the two of them together. Not since shortly after the war. Their fathers had made an attempt to match them, her own father having given up on trying to convince her to be the future leader of their house. He posed it as a compromise: marriage into a powerful house, but on the condition of her being a knight for House Gautier. It was the type of proposal that she may have settled for during their days in the Officers’ Academy. But when the Count and Margrave brought it up to them during Dimitri’s Coronation Festival, both Sylvain and Ingrid had rejected it out of hand. The Margrave probably would have pushed it, had not the newly crowned king and the duke swept in to their rescue. Dimitri offered her a knighthood in service to House Blaiddyd; Felix offered Sylvain a place in his household guard until he came into his own title. Count Galatea had smiled, thanking Dimitri for giving Ingrid the future she wanted. Margrave Gautier started to shout, which got him challenged to a duel by a furious Duke Fraldarius, which predictably ended in the Margrave beaten and then thrown out of the capital, with royal instructions to only come to Fhirdiad when directly summoned by the king. The rest of the night had proceeded as before, full of celebration and drink, and ended with Sylvain drunkenly baring his soul to Ingrid about the state of his heart. From that night on, Ingrid found herself sworn to two causes: House Blaiddyd and Sylvain Jose Gautier’s lasting happiness.

“If you don’t tell Felix how you feel, he’ll spend the rest of his days making whoever Dimitri marries miserable. Along with the entire court and council.”

“That’s going to happen no matter who Dimitri marries, Ing.” He watches out the window until he sees Dimitri round the corner from the hall that leads to the audience chamber and pass the training ground door. He stands up and shucks his undershirt, swapping it for a white shirt. “Unless _he_ marries Felix. Then just the court and council will be miserable.”

“And you won’t be?” she asks. Sylvain collapses on the bed face down

“Hey, there’s something to be said for maintaining the status quo,” he says, cheerful tone he uses when he is truly unhappy muffled by the pillow. Ingrid frowns. Time to change tactics.

“Then talk to both of them,” she says. She rises from the window sill and plops herself on the desk chair, places her elbow on the desk, and rests her hand on her fist. “You’re always saying there’s something going on between the three of you.”

“There is, but not like that.”

“How then?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Sylvain, you can’t just tell me love is complicated every time you think I won’t understand it,” she says, throwing her hands up into the air.

“But you don’t understand it!” He turns over and perches on the edge of the bed so quickly that Ingrid jumps in her seat. “You told me yourself the night they asked us to serve as knights in their houses!”

“I _didn’t_ understand it! But I’ve been paying attention to you and talking to the professor, and I think I know our best friends well enough to know that they don’t want you to be unhappy, not when there’s something they _might_ be able to do about it!” She jumps up. She hates seeing Sylvain unhappy, but sometimes the best way to not see something is to look at something else. She stomps to the door and wrenches it open.

“I love you, you dummy,” she hisses over her shoulder. “I love all of you, and I want all of you to be happy, but you more than anyone.” She turns around just in time to see him collapse back onto the bed, this time face up.

“So you’ve said.” He’s staring at the spot she had been sitting in, eyebrows drawn, like he hadn’t quite noticed that she had moved.

She sighs. “And I mean it. Just please. At the very least, talk to the professor. She helped me understand how I could have what I wanted.”

“…yeah, ok.”

“Thank you, Sylvain. I just want you to be happy.”

“Ingrid?” he says.

“Yes?”

“I love you, too.”

She smiles and turns to leave his room, when he speaks again. “If I do talk to them, and it doesn’t work out in my favor, will you marry me?”

“If I say yes, do you promise to actually try?”

“With you as a consolation prize, this fight might be worth it.”

“Wow, thanks!” she grumbles.

“And it’ll have the added bonus of really pissing my father off.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “If anything, he’ll be happy you found a—what did he call me—“a suitable, crested babymaker?”

“Yeah, but he’ll be mad I didn’t do it because he said so. And I’ll make sure he knows it.” He sits up. “Thank you, Ingrid. I feel a lot better.”

She smiles and shakes her head. Mission sort of accomplished. “Finish changing. Meet me in the greenhouse in an hour? We can walk to the welcome dinner together.” Not waiting for an answer, she exits the room and closes the door behind her.

Dimitri’s door is open when she passes it, but the room is empty, except for the armor on his window sill. Strange. If he’s not there, then where—?

She gets her answer before she can finish the thought. Felix’s door is also open, and inside, sitting on the bed is Dimitri. She has questions, like _is everything ok?_ and _what are you doing in there?_ and _will you please make some kind of move on one or both of our friends so you can put all of us out of our misery?,_ but she is tired of these dumb boys and their inexplicable emotions, so she keeps walking. She has an hour to nap and change, and she’s going to take every minute of it she can. She has a feeling that this will be a long reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain angst, or as I like to call it--Sylvangst. 
> 
> Sorry for the late update. I've been out of town for the past week. I'll have the next chapter up by the weekend, hopefully!


	4. More than a few friends

The second floor of the monastery is quiet in the wake of receiving the bulk of the former students in such a short span. Flayn and Seteth are still talking, as they would. It’s been three months since the young saint had been at Garreg Mach,and, other than the occasional rendezvous Seteth arranged while Flayn was following her merry band of inventors, the two had communicated almost completely by letter. Seteth aged twenty human years in those three months, but seeing the frenetic energy finally burn off at the sight of Flayn, happy and whole, in the Archbishop’s office brought a smile to Byleth’s face. The fact that Flayn would eventually leave again, to continue her self-given task to heal the worst of the damage done by those who slither in the dark, forgotten in the laughter and exclamations exchanged by Byleth’s two favorite people.

“You two don’t need to keep me company, you know,” Byleth says over the stack of letters she’s received from the knights she had stationed at churches throughout Fodlan.

“Nonsense!” Flayn exclaims from the low sofa across the room. “There is nowhere I would rather be than with the two of you.”

Byleth smiles at the green-haired duo and flips through the letters, skimming the first couple lines to see if anything required her immediate attention. Other than a request for a few knights to help with the finishing touches on a small chapel in Gautier territory, there’s not much that even requires a response. She extricates the letter from the stack to find that it’s pinned to a copy of a letter she didn’t write. The letter promises ten mounted knights and provisions for the winter. It’s signed by Seteth. She flips through the letters again. Every single one is attached to a copy of a letter penned by Seteth. She keeps her head down, but lifts her eyes to see the offender looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Seteth, you could have left some of my job for me to do,” she says with mock irritation. She looks at him in full, and his gaze shifts, settling resolutely on his hands. Flayn’s face lights up like it usually does whenever her father is about to be scolded.

“I couldn’t sleep. Most of the letters came in the night.”

“Thank you. But I wish you would spend half us much time taking care of yourself as you do helping me.”

“So you’ve said. There’s correspondence from Claude and Shamir that I haven’t opened. It’s in the box to your left.”

Byleth grabs the box and opens it, and true to Seteth’s words, there are two letters. She grabs the scroll tied closed with a single black cord. The paper is inscribed with a short message:

_Arrived. Settled. All is well._

_-Cyril_

Byleth frowns at the paper. Cyril writing a message sent by Shamir was unexpected, so Byleth casts a weak fire spell and holds the paper to the flame. A short message blooms across the page as the heat licks the parchment.

_You were right. Something is going on. We’ll be back tomorrow after the welcome feast. Unsafe to travel by road or wyvern._

Byleth frowns again. She had dispatched the two of them shortly after dawn. After that terrible dream. She strengthened the fire spell until the paper began to burn. After putting the still burning parchment in the waste basket at her feet, she turned to the other message. This one was crammed haphazardly into a black envelope and held shut by wax stamped in a crescent moon.

Claude’s message is longer, but at first glance looks like it says less than Shamir’s brief one.

_Holiness,_

_Had to swing through Edmund Territory to nab two of our old friends. Picked up more than I expected._

_Heard a couple stories about you. I won’t write you what. Don’t want you to come up with a cover story. I’m pretty sure Hilda has been reading my messages, anyway._

_I’ll be back sooner than we thought._

_Please apologize to my wife. I’m pretty sure Marianne has tried, but I doubt that has made much of a difference._

_Your Favorite Archer,_

_Claude_

She holds this one over the flame as well, but instead of showing an additional message, it’s a crudely drawn map of the chapel-turned-shrine where her father died. She puts this letter to the torch, too. With a sigh, she stands, drawing the attention of the saints in her office.

“Is everything alright?” Seteth asks as he stands up. Their eyes meet, and she looks away with a small shake of her head.

“Flayn, please go to the training grounds and wrangle Duke Fraldarius. I need to speak to him and His Majesty, the King, immediately.”

“What’s going on?” Flayn asks. Her eyes are wide and she keeps looking back and forth between Byleth and her father.

“Flayn. Please find the Duke and the King and bring them here. When you see them, be sure to use their titles. Speak to no one else.”

“You never refer to them by their titles,” Flayn says, panic creeping on the edges of her voice.

“And give this to Dedue.” Byleth writes a note and folds it twice before pressing it into Flayn’s limp hands. “He’ll know what it means.”

“Professor!”

“Cethleann, please,” Seteth says. He pulls her into a tight hug and holds her at arm’s length. “Do as the Archbishop asks. We have to reorganize some of the reunion’s events.”

“I am an adult and I will not leave this room until one of you tells me what’s going on.” Her hands are on her hips, and a defiance she could have only learned from Lysithea is set on her face.

“You’ll know soon enough, my dear. Please let us preserve your innocence for just a little bit longer,” pleads the Archbishop. For one tense moment, Byleth can see something dark gleam in Flayn’s eye, but it’s over in a second, and Flayn deflates.

“Fine,” she relents. She shoves the letter into her pocket and takes off into the audience chamber, and then into the hallway.

“You should have opened all my mail,” she starts. She sinks down onto the sofa and puts her head in her hands.

“What happened?” Seteth sits down next to her and drapes his arm around her shoulder.

“Shamir and Cyril are bringing Rhea and Catherine back to Garreg Mach.”

“When did they leave for Zanado? I saw Shamir this morning.”

“Right after that, I guess.”

“What are they doing there? What about Claude?”

“Seteth! I am trying to tell you.” She shoves his arm off and takes to pacing the room. He puts his hands up in a soothing gesture, and she continues on. “I’ve been having some odd… hunches lately. From dreams and whispers of shadows of rumors. I’ve been in touch with Claude and Felix for the past few months.” She pauses.

“I am aware of your correspondence,” Seteth says in the silence she leaves.

“A year after Dimitri ascended and I became this,” she makes a motion at her headdress, “the Agarthans attacked Deirdriu, we beat them back, and a lot of people thought it was over, for real this time. But Claude didn’t believe it, and neither did Felix, so we came up with a code and sent people all over the place to gather information. We used Shamir’s network for a while, but Yuri’s birds have provided more help lately.”

“Long story short, Zanado isn’t safe. There’s something going on in Edmund Territory, and Claude found a couple missing operatives and is on his way here. Might be here by now, actually, and we need to meet him and bring him back to the monastery immediately.”

“We must go at once,” Seteth stands and heads to the door. Byleth heads him off and puts her hands in a soothing gesture this time.

“I need to talk to Felix and Dimitri first. Dedue will muster the former students and wait for us in the entrance hall. We’ll tell them what we need to know on the way.”

As if on cue, Dimitri and Felix burst into the office, Dimitri first, weapon drawn, followed by Felix, whose hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

“Did you hear from Claude? Has he found anything?” the swordsman asks.

“What in Ailell is going on?” Dimitri demands. He’s ready to fight, if the tension in his shoulders is anything to go by.

“There’s a couple friends of the Church that need our help,” she levels a look at Felix.

“Are they alone?” he asks.

“Is who alone?”Dimitri barks. Byleth ignores him.

“I’m not sure. But they are probably injured, so we need to get to them, and then fight our way out again, if need be.”

“Byleth!” Dimitri snaps. “Answer me!”

Felix levels a glare on his king, who settles minutely, and turns back to his former professor. “We need to bring him inside.”

“You never told him?” She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. King and Shield may be something more than comrades after the war, but Felix has never been particularly transparent with information.

“He never asked.”

“Well, I’m asking now. Tell me what is going on.”

Byleth sighs. “Fodlan is in danger. Claude has information and we need to get that information immediately.”

“Where is he?” Seteth asks.

“Where my Father died. I’ll tell you and Dimitri more when we get back. But be prepared. We’re probably going to be seeing some enemies.”

“Are the four of us enough?” Dimitri asks.

“Unsure. Dedue should be gathering a few others. And your equipment.” Byleth places her hands on their shoulders. “I’m going to change. I will meet you all outside the gate.” The two former students leave the room, and Byleth rips off the headdress. There’s a mirror above the side table across from the door, and Byleth uses it to sweep her hair into a pony tail. “Seteth, please keep the rest of the former students calm. I need to keep this as quiet as possible until I can talk to Claude and then to everyone at once.”

“Byleth, I’m coming with you,” he says this like it’s a foregone conclusion, like him coming is the most obvious thing in the world. If Flayn were not in the monastery, it would have been.

“You need to be here with Flayn.” She pulls a pair of leather breeches and boots out of the table and pulls both on under her dress.

“Flayn will be safe inside the monastery. You will need every weapon you can get at such short notice.”

“Flayn will be scared and will absolutely try to follow us if we both go. If anyone asks where we’ve gone, tell them we’re going hunting for tonight’s feast. We underestimated how much the guests would eat before dinner or something like that. Besides, Rhea and Catherine are coming, and their rooms need prepared.”

“Byleth,” he begins.

She cuts him off by putting her hand to his mouth. “I’ll be fine. Fraldarius soldiers are ready to march in less than five minutes. Knowing Felix, he’s grabbed a couple to come with us.” She hugs him. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Please be careful. Stay as close to the party as you can.”

Instead of answering, Byleth smiles and grabs her sword from where it glows against her desk.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” She leaves the room, and the smile leaves her face.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come soon! Please tell me what you think! 
> 
> And the soup was delicious! Dedue would be proud.


End file.
